The Wonder of Purple Summer
by LittleInk
Summary: The aftermath of the conversation in the woods between Ilse and Moritz, as Ilse realises she never said enough. In an alternative ending, Wendla is the one to discover his body. Oneshot.


Oh, hello again.

It's Littleink. I realise I haven't written in a while, and this is a very short oneshot, but it was kinda in my brain and apparently it's now on the internet. Apologies if it's a little rushed- I wrote this within the space of half an hour, but it was fun to write and I hope you all love Spring Awakening as much as I do (especially Ilse and Moritz as a pairing- I think they're wonderful).

Have fun (or try, I guess) reading, and don't forget to **review! **They make my day, and anything is welcome.

So, enjoy!

* * *

Ilse was running. She was running so hard.

She had foolishly expected hope for the pair of them, but the end came anyway. Moritz Stiefel had dismissed her again, just as he had done so throughout their childhood together, and she had fled, masking her misery with a biting tongue. Her bare feet now slapped the pavements, leaving them covered with sores that seemed irrelevant to her- the only thing that mattered was that her hatred for the young German boy was swelling.

And yet, she didn't hate him. She didn't hate him at all.

Collapsing against a tree, Ilse fell at its base. Pausing to breathe, she ran her soles through callous fingers that had blistered over years of strumming that damned guitar of hers- Moritz had always liked its simplistic finish as a child. Ilse, she had loved the music it produced; that fine tuned scale of strings that melodically serenaded her wherever she went. _You don't really care for music, do you Moritz?_

Her breath quickened as she rested her head against the bark of the tree- whether this was due to her sprint from the woodland opening where her insightful conversation with Moritz had been hosted, or the actual conversation itself, she had no idea. _There's no such thing as three little words_, she told herself. _How could I ever have said what I feel towards that boy in just three? I'm not even fully sure I understand this myself. _

Pitfalls; her gut wrung between her hands. _He never wanted me._

Subtlety had never been Ilse's strong point, but at that moment she had needed it more than anything. Desperately she had attempted to console the boy, as if he was a baby bird between her hands, but he had flown away as quickly as he had landed, and she had frightened him. Little did he know, she was frightened herself.

The places she had visited with the Priapia- it had scared her. Full of thieves and black magic and war paint and cigars that smelt funny and made her mouth fuzzy. '_Strolling with the Priapia', _Ilse almost laughed to herself bitterly at her own web of lies, _hardly strolling at all. Gunshots and horses and haybarns and nights of waking up alone, clutching at my own cloth shirt as I feared for my life. _The thrill of it had excited her, urged her to carry on, but the group of men had soon left her to fend for herself which tested her independant attitude. It had taken 3 days and 2 nights to find her way home, her body still aching from a lack of food and the acts of rape she had screamed and shrieked through on the scariest of days. She was both physically and mentally exhausted- all she had wanted was to see the naive and unassuming face of her old friend Moritz Stiefel once again. Help had not materialised, and here she was, attempting to cope with the harsh reality of it all.

Ilse was a dreamer, but it was about time that she had put those dreams to a stop. Her last encounter had taught her that much.

If anything, her happiest days had been spent with her three best friends- Wendla Bergman, Melchior Gabor, and through gritted teeth, Moritz Stiefel. She had always known Melchior and Wendla belonged together, in a weird sense, and she had hoped the same for herself and Moritz- but complications got in the way. _We were just too different. We would never have made any sense._

Moritz had always held back as she had combed through his supposed mane and rode on his back like a hobby horse, but Ilse knew that inside he was smiling. She supplied him with the attention and comfort he craved, feeding him it gradually as she encouraged him to speak out against the world and never, ever to stay silent. Maybe she shouldn't have thought of that as a good thing. _I was so stupid. So uneducated. So ignorant. Now he's brave, he's so brave, and that's something he was never meant to be. _

A crack tore through her train of thought, leaving it exposed. Like thunder, like a cricket ball hitting a bat, like.. the gunshots she had heard so often on her travels. It was quick, soaring through the air outwards at an alarming pace- and although she knew where it had sourced, she elbowed the horrifying image out of her mind in shameless denial. So, Ilse picked herself up, and continued running, pushing back a mess of tears along with the hair that whipped her face.

-x-

Wendla Bergman was the first one to find the body, during one of her walks through the woods. An array of flowers had fallen limply out of his dead man's grasp, his forehead boring into the dirt of the forest floor- the gun was nearby, the bullet driven miraculously into the tree parallel to its fleshy target. She stayed silent.

Blood. Oh, god, there was so much blood. Wendla had never seen so much in her life before and it frightened her. She supposed that was why she could only stare blankly at her lover's comrade, flat against the woodland path.

"Moritz," she mumbled, bowing down to place her hands against his torso gently. He was still warm, and the blood was still wet- only just beginning to grow sticky, "Oh, Moritz. What have you done?"

Resting her head against his body, she wept into the cloth softly, tears falling for him, and for Melchior, and for Ilse. _Ilse_. She had been seen around the village since her departure with the Priapia, and now she had been greeted with the death of her dearest friend. Casting a small prayer, Wendla retrieved the small bouquet that lay at his feet and placed it in his hands (they had began to grow colder) before crossing them over one another and planting a small kiss against his forehead. She slid the dead eyes shut.

"I'll get somebody," she murmured allowed to herself, her eyelashes wet, and she tore back through the forest with the sole matter on her mind.

_As for Moritz, Ilse had been the last thing that had crossed his own._

* * *

So, I'm finished. I hope it wasn't too bad (whoopsies if it was). Thanks for reading! Now I've finished exams I'm really going to kick myself up the arse to post more because I don't do it enough.

As always thank you to the fanfics that I already love, because they make me want to do this.

Bye from me! Remember to **review **if you're feeling lovely.

-LittleInk. Xx


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